


Gadzookery

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [264]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, M/M, Not a Mary Verse, S4 didn't happen, after Garridebs, fluffy with a dash of implied angst, not TFP Garridebs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 16:40:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10312604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: gadzookery: noun: gad-ZOO-kuh-ree: the use or overuse of period-specific or archaic expressions, as in a historical novel:from Merriam-Webster:"Gadzooks . . . you astonish me!" cries Mr. Lenville in Charles Dickens' Nicholas Nickleby. We won't accuse Dickens of gadzookery ("the bane of historical fiction," as historical novelist John Vernon once called it), because we assume people actually said gadzooks back in the 1830s. That mild oath is an old-fashioned euphemism, so it is thought, for "God's hooks" (a reference, supposedly, to the nails of the Crucifixion). Today's historical novelists must toe a fine line, avoiding anachronistic expressions while at the same time rejecting modern expressions such as okay and nice (the latter, in Shakespeare's day, suggesting one who was wanton or dissolute rather than pleasant, kind, or respectable).





	

John sighed at the blank screen, the greyish whiteness of it all, then shook his head and took a sip of his now tepid coffee. Sherlock always grumbled when John tried to extricate himself from the detective's limbs without waking him, well before dawn, every morning, to add a new post, or to check the comments for new cases or trolls to be vanquished, but it was what he did. Somehow, he had become historian, hmm, memoirist(?) to his friend, partner and love; his words translated Sherlock's unique gifts, his otherness, into something other people could admire and appreciate, if not truly understand. 

But this morning, the words felt unworthy, or perhaps it was he who was the unworthy one. He grimaced as he tried to move his leg; as long as he didn't think about it too much or gaze down upon it, it didn't throb or ache too badly any longer.

"John?" Sherlock's voice was a hush above his head, his arms were gently wrapped around him, his pointy chin rested in John's hair. "Couldn't sleep?"

"Thinking."

Sherlock nodded, then kissed the top of his head, and stretched out his long fingers over the keyboard and began typing in the dizzyingly competent way he did everything. "John Watson is the bravest and kindest man, if not always the wisest man I know. If not for his audacious act of recklessness a week ago, the world would be without its one and only Consulting Detective. As it is, I type in his stead as he recovers, in awe of his love and care of me, that I have not yet begun to fully comprehend." Sherlock added a link to a ridiculously overdramatic narrative of the Garridebs case, and posted his succinct yet heartfelt commentary to the world.

John leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "A bit of gadzookery, don't you think?" He murmured against Sherlock's lips before kissing him gently, yet warmly and with intention.

"Nonsense, my dear fellow, nothing but the honest truth. Come back to bed, John."


End file.
